


Don't

by tridecaphilia



Series: The Don't Stories [1]
Category: The Maze Runner (2014), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alcoholics Anonymous, Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Caretaking, Depressed Newt, Drinking, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Medication, Multi, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Suicide Attempt, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-20 02:23:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3633159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tridecaphilia/pseuds/tridecaphilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had taken them a month to figure out what was by now routine. Newt spent three days at a time with each of his boyfriends. It was almost impossible to explain to anyone else, but Thomas and Minho wouldn't trade Newt for anything.</p><p>Or, Minho and Thomas broke up and Newt gets passed around like the kid in the divorce.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thomas and Newt as I write them in this fic are largely thanks to a long-running RP between myself and my best friend. Title is from Don't by Ed Sheeran but the fic has nothing in common with the song beyond the title line.
> 
> As of this posting I have written through chapter four of this fic. It will update Saturdays unless I get way ahead and post twice a week.

Thomas woke to the sound of his phone buzzing.

_**( text from : min )** He’s on his way over._

Thomas blinked at the message, then squinted at the clock in the corner of his phone. 2:37 AM.

_**( text to : min )** What did you do?_

The reply was quick and predictably outraged.

_**( text from : min )** I didn’t do anything. You’re the one who didn’t make sure he had his meds._

Shit. Thomas frowned, thinking back. He was sure he’d mentioned it. Hadn’t he? He always mentioned it.

Well, no, that wasn’t true. This wasn’t the first time he’d gotten woken up by one of these messages.

_**( text to : min )** Sorry. You driving him over? _

_**( text from : min )** I offered, but he said he’d take a cab since I have work in the morning._

_**( text to : min )** I’ll pay for it. _

_**( text from : min )** Damn right you will. _

Thomas sighed and locked the phone screen, swinging his legs off the bed and rubbing his eyes. If Newt had forgotten his medication, he’d probably forgotten his key too. Even if he hadn’t, Thomas couldn’t sleep until Newt did. It wasn’t exactly a rule, but he knew Minho wouldn’t.

When exactly it had become a competition, Thomas didn’t know. He and Minho had been broken up for years, and it hadn’t been an instant thing, but somewhere along the way each of them started measuring the other on a scale of how well they treated their mutual boyfriend, and trying to outdo the other.

No wonder they weren’t friends anymore.

Newt’s medication was still on Thomas’s dresser, in the little bag he’d packed it in to take it to Minho’s before he forgot it (and Thomas forgot to remind him). That part taken care of, Thomas headed to the kitchen to get a glass of juice ready for Newt. His pain medication was meant to be taken with food. At this hour, with Newt’s already-finicky stomach, juice was as close as he’d be likely to come. (Minho made him take it with food no matter how late it was.)

Thomas fixed himself a glass of his own. Newt wouldn’t complain if Thomas had whatever he did.

Ten minutes later, he still wasn’t there.

Thomas checked his phone. No new texts, no missed calls. Newt had his own cell phone, he was sure; that was one thing the man never forgot. He just wasn’t there yet.

_**( text to : newt )** Where are you? _

Thomas was just dialing Minho’s number when the doorbell buzzed. He couldn’t help a sigh of relief as he rushed across the tiny apartment and pressed the button to open the gate without even asking who it was.

Three minutes later, the doorknob turned and Newt slipped in.

“Hey,” Thomas said. It was almost three in the morning but he was smiling, relieved and happy to see his boyfriend.

Newt smiled back, a tiny embarrassed thing. “Forgot my meds,” he mumbled, dropping his bag and taking off his jacket. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Thomas said. He reached to take the coat from Newt and hung it in the closet. Newt was wearing just a fitted T-shirt under it. “It’s my fault anyway,” Thomas added, forcing himself to look at Newt’s face instead of the way the shirt clung to him. “I was supposed to remind you.”

Newt shook his head, looking down. Thomas sighed and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “I have juice ready,” he said. “But you look freezing, how about I make hot chocolate instead?”

Newt shrugged. “Whichever,” he said softly. “Sorry I woke you.”

“Minho woke me,” Thomas corrected him. “And like I said, it was my fault, I was supposed to remind you and I forgot. So, juice or hot chocolate?”

Newt shrugged again. “Doesn’t matter.”

He was shivering, Thomas could feel the soft tremors under his arm. “Hot chocolate, then,” he said. “Go put on a sweatshirt and I’ll make it.”

Newt nodded, slipping out from under Thomas’s arm and heading for the bedroom.

Thomas sighed and put on water to heat. Newt should never be this meek. It made something twist in Thomas to see him that way, shamefaced and self-deprecating. He was never like that when he left, but he was always like that when he came back. Whatever he and Minho had, Thomas wasn’t at all sure it was healthy.

Newt returned wearing a sweatshirt that hung oddly on him. It took Thomas a moment to realize it was his, and as soon as he realized it his mouth went dry. He cleared his throat. “Better?” he asked.

Newt nodded, padding over to him. He’d exchanged his shoes for the slippers he kept at Thomas’s apartment. Hardwood floors looked good, but they never got warm, and Newt had run cold as long as Thomas had known him.

Thomas smiled at him softly, running a hand through his hair. It was damp, beaded with drops of cold water. “Is it raining?” he asked. He hadn’t noticed it when he’d taken Newt’s coat, but then, he’d been distracted.

Newt nodded. “Misting,” he said softly.

Thomas pulled him into a hug, rubbing his arms to help him warm up. “Cocoa’s almost done,” he said when he pulled back.

Newt didn’t move to return the hug, or move back when Thomas did. His head was down, but Thomas could see the bags under his eyes. (Why had Minho let him stay up so late before sending him over?) His eyes flicked over to the juice, a question in them.

Without a word, Thomas got out the jug from the fridge and held it over the sink so he could pour the juice back in. Some of it spilled, but at least Newt’s worries about wasting it were assuaged. “Cocoa,” he said firmly. He grabbed the packets and fixed the drink. Too late he realized he was out of Reddi Whip, but he handed Newt the cup anyway. “I have marshmallows, if you want,” he said lamely.

Newt shook his head. “‘S fine,” he murmured, and took a sip. “Shouldn’t have made you pour the juice back,” he said. “Not supposed to take pills with hot things.”

Thomas blinked. Shit. He’d forgotten. Minho was the one who was good at this, at keeping track of Newt’s health. “My fault,” he said. “I forgot. I’ll pour you another one, okay?”

Newt nodded, eyes on the mug in his hands. Thomas busied himself refilling one of the glasses. “I’ll get your meds,” he said, setting it down. “Drink your cocoa, warm up.”

Newt had more medications than Thomas could name. He picked up each one, making sure he found everything that was for nighttime. He knew the one that said “at bedtime” was for sleep and of the two that said “as needed” one was for pain and one was for focus. He grabbed the sleeping pill, the pain pill, and the two that said “twice daily”, and hoped he hadn’t forgotten any. (Minho would know. Minho could name them all.)

Newt had set aside his cocoa mug when Thomas returned, although it was still half-full. Thomas held out the pill bottles. “Is this everything?” he asked. He should know by now, but he didn’t. Most nights Newt handled this himself.

The blond took each one from him, looking at the labels. He didn’t need to do more than glance at the name before he set them on the counter, nodding. “This is it,” he said. He started opening them and tipping pills into his hand, then handed them back to Thomas. “Thank you,” he mumbled.

Thomas smiled, running his free hand through his boyfriend’s hair again. “No problem,” he said. “I’m gonna drop these back in the bedroom. You want to sleep yet, or stay up a while?”

Newt smiled at him, but the expression couldn’t hide the strain around his eyes. “Go to bed, Tommy,” he said. “I’ll come in when the pills kick in.”

Thomas shook his head. “You’ll come in now,” he said stubbornly, “or I’ll stay up.”

Newt sighed and turned back to the pills. One by one he popped them in his mouth and swallowed them with the juice. Thomas watched him for a moment before taking the bottles back to the bedroom and setting them back on the dresser.

He was already in his pajamas, but he got out Newt’s from the drawer. It was too late for anything but sleep, and the fact that Newt was wearing a sweatshirt meant his skin wasn’t irritating him too much for clothes. Newt’s toothbrush was still in Thomas’s bathroom; he only took a few sets of clothes and his medicine when he moved homes. Sometimes, like tonight, not even that.

He came back out of the bedroom to see Newt staring at his cocoa. “It’s okay if you don’t want to finish,” Thomas said gently.

Newt looked up at him, and the exhaustion in his face broke Thomas’s heart. “Just wastes it,” he mumbled.

Thomas crossed the apartment and put a hand on his wrist. “It’s okay,” he said. “Really. Just dump it in the sink.”

Newt stared at the mug again, so Thomas took it from his unresisting hand and dumped it out himself. Newt didn’t protest. Thomas knew full well he’d had no intention of finishing it.

“Come to bed,” Thomas said softly.

Newt nodded.

Thomas took the blond’s hand in his and led the way back to the room. He watched Newt, noting how much he favored his right leg. Thomas guided him back and sat him down on the edge of the bed. “You should get changed,” he said. “Sleeping in jeans isn’t comfortable.”

Newt nodded. Slowly he unzipped his sweatshirt and dropped it aside. Thomas caught his hands. At this rate Newt would fall asleep with his clothes still on. “Let me?”

Newt nodded again, and Thomas hooked his fingers under the hem of his shirt and pulled it up. Newt lifted his arms to help, and lifted them again when Thomas slid the pajama shirt over his head. Thomas guided him to lie down and stripped slippers and socks off his boyfriend’s feet, then pulled the jeans down. There was nothing sexual about the movements, just caring. He slid Newt’s sweatpants up, and finally lifted Newt’s legs and sat down with the blond’s feet on his lap.

Newt jumped, startled for the first time. “Don’t--”

Thomas fixed him with a look, and Newt subsided. Carefully, Thomas started massaging his bad leg. Newt sighed, but his eyes slid shut as Thomas worked. By the time he finished, the blond was asleep.

Thomas smiled and pressed a kiss to his boyfriend’s knee, then crawled up to lie beside him. He pulled the sheets over both of them and draped an arm over Newt’s waist. It was selfish of him to think it, but he was glad he’d forgotten the meds if it gave him an extra night with Newt.

~

He slept peacefully; for once Newt didn’t scream himself awake from a nightmare or thrash his way out of the bed. His alarm, unfortunately, still woke him up at 7:30 on the dot.

Newt grumbled, and Thomas smoothed his hair down. “Shh,” he said, reaching his other arm over his boyfriend to turn off his alarm. He kissed Newt’s hair. “I gotta go to work, baby. You sleep in.”

He slid out of bed on the other side, grabbed the first clothes his fingers touched, and got in the shower. Strictly speaking, he didn’t have to wake up so early--his shift didn’t start until ten--but getting up early meant he could take long showers, and that was an indulgence that was worth losing a little sleep.

He took a good twenty minutes to shower, dry off, and dress in clothes that it turned out actually went together fairly well for having been selected blindly. It took him until then to realize that the apartment smelled good.

“I told you not to get up,” he said, coming up behind Newt and kissing his neck.

Newt ducked his head, hiding his face and giving Thomas better access at the same time. “Consider it an apology for waking you up,” he murmured.

“I don’t need an apology,” Thomas said. He wrapped the towel he’d been using to dry his hair around his shoulders and wrapped his arms around Newt’s waist. “I’m happy to get up to help you, baby, you know that.”

Newt didn’t answer, just flipped the pancakes. “Butter and syrup’s on the table,” he said. “I made coffee but I wasn’t sure you’d want any.”

“Definitely coffee,” Thomas said with feeling. He loved Newt, he did, but it was a wonder he was even on his feet after just four hours of sleep.

Newt nodded to the pot, and Thomas helped himself. “You get any?” he asked Newt. The blond shook his head, so Thomas got him a cup too. Newt gave him a tired smile.

“I’m packed up,” he said. “I’ll head back to Minho’s when you leave.”

“You got your meds this time?” Thomas asked, then winced at the way that came out.

Newt flinched but nodded.

“Hey.” Thomas put his hands on Newt’s shoulders and turned him to face him. “I didn’t mean it like that. I love you. I’d do anything for you. You’re welcome here any time you want. I just prefer it to be because you want to be here, not because you have to.”

Newt smiled at him, small and worn and not quite enough to hide the exhaustion still heavy on his thin frame. “I’ll come back,” he promised.

Thomas couldn’t bring himself to explain that that wasn’t what he meant.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of 3/30/15, this fic is fully written. If you pay close attention, you'll notice that the total number of chapters just changed. That's because when I plotted this fic I intended to write an epilogue, but when I finished chapter eight I realized I couldn't end it any better than that. I'm not planning a proper sequel at this point, but I have written and intend to keep writing some small fics set in the same universe dealing with the buildup and aftermath. The fic will update Tuesday and Saturday until completion. After that I'll probably post about one ficlet a week depending on interest.
> 
> Also, tags now reflect the fic as a whole. There's not a lot of triggering material in this, especially compared to Rehab, but please be sure you're comfortable with it all.
> 
> Third note: The restaurants mentioned in this fic are actual restaurants. I'm not any more affiliated with them than I am James Dashner. I just think their concepts are awesome and want to eat at them.

Minho was at work when Newt got to his flat, but he had his key and let himself in.

Minho’s flat was bigger than Thomas’s. The place was in his name, and had been even when the three of them were together, so he’d got it when he and Thomas broke up. There was, technically, even a spare bedroom, although it was mostly Newt’s studio.

There was a note from Minho on the dining room (there was an actual dining room) table.

_ Newt, _

_Made you sandwiches for lunch. I expect them to be gone when I get home. Text me and let me know you made it back._

_Love,_

_Minho_

Newt’s fingers traced the word love reverently, a smile on his face. Thomas was free with his affection--a touch here, a kiss there, pet names every other sentence. Minho reserved it for when it was needed.

He got out his phone and sent a text.

_**( text to : my moon )** I made it home. I’m going to sleep some more, I’ll eat when I get up. xo-n _

That taken care of, he retreated to the bedroom, dropped his coat and jeans on the floor, and collapsed into bed.

~

Sleep eluded him. For all that he’d gotten barely four hours the night before, for all that his eyes wouldn’t focus right, he couldn’t fall over the edge into sleep. It was frustrating, and in itself exhausting, and finally he climbed out of bed, grabbed his phone, and crossed the hallway into his studio.

The studio had been a gift from Minho, and the start of the war between his boyfriends for his affections. As if there wasn’t enough of him to go around, when the deal had always been that they’d share him. Newt could see in Thomas’s eyes, every time Newt went back to Minho’s, that Thomas wondered if he would still leave if Thomas could afford a room like this. And he could see in Minho’s eyes that he wondered the same.

Still. The studio was nice.

Newt checked his phone. Two new messages.

_**( text from : my moon )** As long as you eat. _

_**( text from : my sun )** Text me and let me know you got there safe, okay? _

He smiled, although he was still tired enough to cry, and replied to both.

_**( text to : my moon )** I had breakfast at Tommy’s. I’ll eat them for lunch, promise. xo-n _

_**( text to : my sun )** I’m here, I’m fine, don’t worry. xo-n _

He looked around the studio, then at the door back to the hallway and the food in the kitchen. He really wasn’t hungry yet, but Minho could guilt trip him into eating.

As if on cue, the phone buzzed.

_**( text from : my moon )** One now, one for lunch. _

He sighed, texted back a quick agreement, and headed to the kitchen.

The sandwiches were turkey; Minho wouldn’t let him get away with eating just peanut butter and jelly, and Newt wouldn’t eat any red meat. His diet wasn't exactly varied when he stayed with Minho. Not that it was much better with Thomas.

He ate quickly, washing it down with a glass of milk. Eating, like medication, was something Minho was stringent about. He could get away with skipping meals at Thomas's place, but not Minho's.

Thomas had blamed himself for Newt coming back.

The thought twisted his stomach and he almost threw up what he'd eaten. But he was past that. He didn't have to punish himself like that. Besides, Minho would know and he'd be disappointed.

Newt sighed, scuffing a hand through his hair as he retreated to his studio again. There was a club chair in there. Maybe he could nap there. Maybe sleeping alone wouldn't be so impossible that way.

He was twenty eight years old, for God's sakes. He was older than Thomas by two years, older than Minho by one. He should be old enough to be trusted to take his medication and not leave it if someone didn't remind him. It wasn't Thomas's fault if he forgot.

He glared at the door to his studio, then turned around and went back into the bedroom.

_**( text to : my moon )** I ate. _

He crawled back into bed and pulled the covers up over his head. He'd try to sleep a while longer. Maybe it would even work this time.

When the phone buzzed again he actually screamed in frustration and threw his pillow at the wall. His fury subsided when he saw that the text wasn't from either of his boyfriends, but his ex.

_**( text from : alby )** Had a call off tonight. Can you work a shift? _

That was what he needed. A distraction. Being a kept man had been fun at first, but it was wearing on him not having anything to do.

He'd just started to text back when his phone buzzed again. His heart sank.

_**( text from : my moon )** Got us reservations for tonight. See you at 7. _

He bit his lip. Minho would understand if he said he needed a night, wouldn't he? If Alby needed him?

Minho worked at a job he hated so that he could keep the apartment that had been theirs, so that he could pay for Newt's medication and doctor visits, so that he could spoil Newt. And Newt had spent one of his nights with Thomas.

He texted back.

_**( text to : my moon )** See you then. _

_**( text to : alby )** Can't. I have a date. _

He switched his phone to silent in case anyone else texted, then grabbed the pillow off the floor where it had landed and buried himself under the covers once more.

~

He dreamed of his studio.

Music was something he'd fallen in love with as a teenager, at a time in his life where everything looked bleak and the prospect of waking up in the morning was enough to fill him with despair. One day he’d been walking home from school and had passed a street performer with his guitar--and had asked to play the instrument.

Anyone else would have laughed him away, but Alby had agreed. Even more than that, he’d offered to teach Newt.

In his dream, Alby played with him in the studio. Alby was on lead guitar; Newt was rhythm and vocals. It was just like when he was in college, right after Alby graduated, before his dreams of being a professional musician died and took Newt’s with it. They were playing, and outside, Minho and Thomas were dancing.

He should have known it was a dream.

~

“You didn’t eat.”

Newt groaned, trying to recapture the dream, trying to fall back asleep. But someone was shaking him--gently, but still shaking him. Finally he rolled onto his back, blinking up at--

“Min?” He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “What’re you doing home so early?”

“It’s six,” Minho said. “And I’m home because when I said I’d see you at seven, I meant the reservation is for seven.”

Newt considered that, and then started to smile. “You…”

Minho rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I pulled a Thomas. Come on, get up. You need a shower. Why didn’t you eat?”

Newt stretched, making a face. He really didn’t want to get up. “I ate before I went to bed,” he said, covering a yawn with one hand. “Slept from eleven to now.”

Minho shook his head, a fond smile on his face. “Did you take your meds?”

Newt stilled, eyes widening like he expected a blow. “No,” he said in a low voice.

Minho didn’t yell. He didn’t smack Newt. He never would; neither of Newt’s boyfriends would ever hurt him like that. He just sighed and held out a hand. “Up,” he said. “I’ll get you your meds to take before we leave.”

Newt looked down, shamefaced, and let Minho pull him to his feet. “I’ll shower,” he mumbled.

Minho looked him up and down and then pulled him into a hug.

"I’m not mad at you,” he said. “I’m just worried. You haven’t been this low in a while.”

Newt hesitantly returned the embrace, tangling his fingers in Minho’s shirt. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Minho said. He stepped back, running his fingers back through Newt’s hair. “Go shower. I’ll have your meds and clothes ready when you get out.”

Newt nodded and slipped past him to the bathroom. That was another thing Minho’s apartment had, a full-sized bathroom with actual counter space and water pressure to spare. He turned the shower on as hot as he could stand and shucked his clothes for the third time that day before stepping in.

Minho had made reservations for seven, and gotten home at six. There wasn’t much time for him to dawdle, but he let himself relax under the water. If his boyfriends weren’t so worried about him lately, he wouldn’t be showering alone. Thomas would help him, or Minho. In the old days, they’d both have climbed in with him.

No use thinking about that now.

He scrubbed himself down, not entirely sure when he’d last showered and not at all sure where Minho planned to take him. He got out and dried off, then did a double take when he saw the clothing Minho had set on the counter.

“Minho!” he yelled. “What the fuck is this?”

Minho had apparently been in the bedroom, because a second later he was leaning on the bathroom door frame. “That,” he said, “is a suit.”

Newt turned horrified eyes to him. “I know it’s a suit,” he said. “Where the fuck are you taking me that I need a suit?”

“L’Apicio,” Minho said.

Newt groaned and buried his face in his hands.

“What’s wrong with that?”

Minho sounded genuinely offended. Newt looked up, all too aware he looked about to cry.

“It’s too much,” he said. “You can’t--I can’t go somewhere like that, that’s just wasting money, I’m not worth that.”

Minho sighed. “You are to me,” he said. “Put the suit on, okay?”

He left before Newt could voice another objection. Distantly Newt realized his hands were shaking. He swallowed back the rising panic and picked up the towel.

Ten minutes later he emerged from the bathroom, wearing the suit Minho had picked out. The look of satisfaction on his boyfriend’s face was enough to make him actually smile.

“Relax,” Minho said, coming over and adjusting the lapel of his jacket. He leaned in and kissed Newt lightly. “You’re perfect.”

Newt smiled a little wider, although it shook. “If you say so,” he said.

“I do,” Minho informed him, and wrapped an arm around his waist. “And now I’m going to take my perfect boyfriend out to a perfect dinner and come home and spend the night ravishing him.”

Newt giggled. It was supposed to be a laugh but his anxiety had kicked in and turned it too high-pitched and he had to admit it was a giggle. “Did you honestly just say ravishing?”

“I did,” Minho said. “Now come on.”

He led the way to the dining room and handed Newt a glass of orange juice. “Meds first,” he said. “Then we leave.”

Newt sighed, but took the pills.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic is fully written, so the tags do reflect the fic as a whole. Make sure you're okay with all the warnings, please.
> 
> At this point I'm not planning a real sequel to this fic, but I have a few 'companion' fics in mind, set in the same universe during and after this fic. Whether they get written and posted depends on interest, so if you want more, let me know.

_**( text to : thomas )** You notice anything off about Newt lately?_

Minho stared at the phone for a long minute, weighing the benefits of sending against the costs. Maybe nothing was wrong with Newt and Minho was overreacting. Maybe what was wrong was specific to Minho and Thomas wouldn't have seen anything. Maybe...

Maybe Minho was right.

Newt hadn’t remembered his meds in the two days he’d been with Minho. Sure, he normally forgot certain things, but he normally didn’t have to be reminded to take his meds every time. And he’d left them at Thomas’s house…

Minho sighed and hit SEND, then turned back to the stove.

Newt was the pickiest eater imaginable. Minho couldn’t remember him being that way before… before, but he was now. No red meat, no shellfish, eggs only if they were poached or hard-boiled. Honestly, sometimes Minho wanted to shake him out of it, but the urge usually passed quickly. At least he was eating again, and keeping it down.

His phone buzzed.

_**( text from : thomas )** I know his leg's been hurting more lately. You mean besides that? _

Minho scowled at the phone. Thomas hadn't noticed. That could mean nothing; Minho was always more paranoid about Newt's health than Thomas was. He noticed more. Or maybe he'd just imagined it.

_**( text to : thomas )** Did you have to remind him about his pills? _

He stared at the message, then delete it unsent.

Newt was still sleeping. Last night had been the first time in months that they'd made love, and Minho wasn't at all ashamed to say that he'd kept his boyfriend up *very* late. Newt needed his rest. He'd sleep a while longer, and Minho would have breakfast ready for him when he finally woke up.

Meantime, he’d eat something himself.

~

Minho was just finishing his bacon-and-egg sandwich when Newt stumbled out of the bedroom, rubbing his eyes. The bigger man grinned as he stood up, catching Newt by his free hand and tugging him into a kiss. “Sleep well?” he asked teasingly.

Newt blushed and smiled back. “Once I finally slept,” he said, just as much teasing in his own voice.

Minho laughed. “Sit down, I’ll make coffee and breakfast,” he said, patting the chair beside his own. Newt nodded, slumping into the seat without complaint.

Minho put the coffee on, then busied himself making his boyfriend poached eggs and toast. When they were all cooking, he poured a glass of juice and handed it to Newt. “Meds,” he said sternly.

Newt nodded glumly and reached for the pill bottles.

Minho caught his hand, stroking it gently. “Hey,” he said. He waited until Newt looked at him to say, “You know I care about you, right?”

Newt smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I know,” he said. “I love you too.”

Minho returned the smile and released his hand. Newt grabbed the bottles, sorted out the ones for morning, and started popping them in his mouth.

Minho scooped the egg out of the water and onto a plate just as the toast popped out of the toaster. He nabbed that so quickly he burned his fingers, dropping it on the plate beside the eggs. He put the whole thing by Newt, then fetched the butter and jam. “Dig in,” he said, taking a seat beside Newt.

Newt obeyed. “Did you ask off today?” he asked.

“No.” Minho grimaced. “I have to go in this afternoon. I’ll be home late. Sorry.”

Newt shrugged. “‘S fine,” he said. “Just wanted to know. I’ll just be in my studio.”

Minho smiled at that. The studio had been a good idea, despite the expense of setting it up. It was one of the few places in the world that made Newt really happy. Sometimes Minho would slip in while Newt had his headphones on, just to watch the look of bliss on his face as he played and sampled music.

“Sounds good,” was all he said aloud. “I’ll see you tonight.”

~

Work ran late. Honestly, Minho should have seen that coming, but he’d hoped to get home in time to have dinner with Newt. But such had been his life since he took the job.

Minho had a gift for engineering, but that didn’t mean he liked it. It was just the only thing that paid a high enough wage to someone as young as he was for him to afford a two-bedroom apartment and still feed and care for his boyfriend. And he liked doing that, enough to put up with a job he could do without.

Still, when it took away from his precious little time with Newt, he could _really_ do without it.

He was three blocks from his apartment when his phone buzzed. He glanced at it--a text. It could wait until he wasn’t moving.

His phone rang when he was in sight of his apartment door. He checked it. _Call from: Newt._

He sighed but answered. “Newt, I’m almost home--”

“It’s Alby.”

Minho stopped talking, pulled over to the side of the road. “Alby? Where’s Newt? Is he okay?”

“He’s fine, just drunk off his ass. He came to the bar when you weren’t home--”

Minho swore, violently and fluently. “How much did you give him?”

Alby’s voice was too patient. Danger sign, but Newt was at the bar and drunk and under the care of only his ex and Minho was really too stressed at that moment to care if Alby blew up at him. “I monitored him,” the older man said. “Carefully. I do remember how alcohol messes with his meds, you know.”

"How much?" Minho demanded.

Alby sighed. "Three drinks. I didn't call you because he's drunk, Minho, I called you because he's _crying_. He keeps saying he messed everything up and I'm really not the person he needs right now."

"I'll be there in five minutes," Minho said. His stomach had plummeted at Alby's words. Newt needed him. He needed Minho and Minho had been at work and too busy to be reached. If Newt had done anything, it would have been Minho's fault.

The Glade, the bar Alby ran, was only a few minutes from Minho's apartment. Newt had worked there, before... Before. Just before.

That was their life, divided into before and after. Before, when they were all happy and all together. And after, when they were two pairs instead of one triad. After, when Thomas and Minho didn't even talk to each other and Thomas was just Thomas in Minho's phone. Before, when days were measured in time together, and after, when they were measured in pills taken and meals recorded.

Minho parked the car outside the Glade, as close to the door as he could get. He doubted Newt was going to want to walk far, or be steady enough to do it.

Gally was acting as the bouncer tonight. He barely glanced at Minho before waving him in. "He's waiting for you," he said.

Minho instantly felt a wave of foreboding. Gally was, oddly enough, his friend. For him not to take a chance to shoot the shit or rib him meant Newt was in a bad way.

He couldn't have been more right.

Zart was behind the bar, which was another warning sign. If Alby was here, he should be behind the bar. Zart didn't even _like_ working the bar. He was usually a server or busboy.

Mingo searched the place for Alby and Newt. If Zart was behind the bar then it was a sure bet that the two were together. Finally he found them, seated at a corner table, as private as they could get without leaving. Minho headed over. "Came as quick as I could," he murmured.

Alby looked up, relief on his face. Newt, though, didn't seem to have heard. His face was buried in Alby's shoulder and he was shaking from tears.

Not good. Very not good. And probably not to do with drink; Newt was an angry drunk, not a miserable one. Minho hesitated, steeling himself, then instantly scolded himself. This was his boyfriend. Comforting him was Minho's job, or part of it. He put a hand on the blonde's shoulder.

Newt jerked, looking up at Minho through puffy eyes. Then without warning he let go of Alby and turned, grabbing Minho around the waist and burying his face in his shirt.

"I'm sorry," he gasped. "I'm sorry..."

Minho wasn't good at comfort. (Thomas was good at it.) But he couldn't just watch this. He pulled Newt up to sitting so he could sit beside him, then guided the blonde's head down to his shoulder. He felt awkward as hell, but he rubbed Newt's back. "It's okay," he mumbled. "It's okay, I'm not angry."

That, unfortunately, didn't calm Newt down at all. If anything, he cried harder.

"My fault," he mumbled between sobs. "My fault, I'm so sorry..."

Alby stood up. "I gotta get back to the bar," he said. "Zart looks like he's drowning."

Minho nodded, still focused on Newt. He didn't know how to help him. For a minute he considered texting Thomas, but he discarded the thought. Newt was his boyfriend too, and he could take care of him.

"What is?" he asked, trying not to let his desperation show.

Newt hiccupped, which at least meant he wasn't sobbing anymore. His voice, though, broke on the word. "Us."

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter heralds the inevitable backstory. It also contains references and allusions to suicide and self-harm. Please make sure you're okay with that before reading it.

Four years ago, Alby's boss had retired and left him in charge of the bar. Two weeks later, drowning in his new job, he'd hired his friends and band mates Gally and Newt to help. Things had been fine for the first year, until Alby had decided he couldn't balance a band and the bar. He’d left the band, and Newt and Gally had never been close enough friends to make a duo of it.

Two weeks later, Thomas and Minho had gotten the call.

Newt had been in the hospital for a month, under suicide watch and in a wheelchair. Another two months had gone to intensive physical and emotional therapy before Newt had finally been allowed to go back to a normal life.

The problem was, his life wasn't waiting for him.

Minho and Thomas had already broken up, although they hid it from Newt almost until he was out of intensive outpatient therapy. Thomas moved out just two days after Newt was allowed to spend his days at home. Alby offered Newt his job back, but Newt wasn't totally stable at the time and eventually Alby had to hire someone new.

It had taken them a month to figure out what was by now routine. Newt spent three days at a time with each of his boyfriends. It was almost impossible to explain to anyone else, but Thomas wouldn't trade Newt for anything. He was the light of Thomas’s life.

Which was why Minho's text worried him so much.

_**( text from : min )** Newt had a breakdown tonight at the Glade. He's fine now, just sleeping. Might be a little late getting over tomorrow. _

It took everything Thomas had not to text back or even call and demand answers. What kind of breakdown? How bad were things? Were they back in knife-and-cigarette territory? Had Newt started binge drinking again?

_Chill,_ he ordered himself when he found himself checking his phone for the twentieth time that morning. Minho would have told him if things were that bad.

Ten AM. Thomas had gotten the day off work, had called and talked Chuck into covering for him. The kid had grown up since the days when he idolized Thomas for his starring role in the college track-and-field team, but Thomas could still talk him into anything if he needed to. And today he definitely needed to.

_**( text to : newt )** Are you awake yet? _

He stared at the message for a solid minute before eventually hitting SEND. The answer didn’t take long, but it wasn’t from Newt.

_**( text from : newt )** It’s Minho. Newt’s still sleeping, I’ll text you when he wakes up. _

Thomas cursed aloud and flopped back down onto the couch. Minho had abducted Newt’s phone. Maybe things were worse than he’d thought.

After ten minutes’ deliberation he finally dialed a number he hadn’t in years.

“Thomas, he’s _fine_.”

That was Minho, cutting past greetings and skipping straight to cursing people out. Now Thomas remembered why they’d broken up.

“Define ‘fine,’” Thomas said. “You just said he had a breakdown. What the hell happened?” _Why weren’t you there,_ he didn’t say. Minho would hear perfectly well.

Minho sighed. “Alby called me on my way home, said Newt had gone over and was crying. I checked him over when we got home, he’s fine. No injuries, just a headache from crying. He’s _sleeping_.”

“How much did he drink?” Thomas asked. Alby and Newt had dated for a while back when Newt was starting and Alby was freshly graduated. All these years later, Alby still doted. Newt might not technically have an income, but he got whatever he wanted at the Glade for free.

“Alby said three drinks,” Minho said. “I believe him.”

“Do you have anything in your apartment?”

Thomas wished he could take back the question. Things were tense enough between him and Minho without adding accusations. But it was too late.

“No,” Minho said flatly. “Anything else, you can ask him yourself. _When he wakes up._ ”

He hung up.

~

It was one o’clock when Minho finally texted that Newt was on his way over, one-thirty when Newt rang the doorbell.

He looked worse than he had a few days ago. There were bags under his eyes and his shoulders were slumped and he was holding on to his bag so tightly his knuckles were white. Every cruel thought Thomas had had since he saw that text instantly fled his mind. He took the bag from Newt’s hands and set it aside before folding him into a hug, trailing kisses over his forehead and jaw.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he whispered.

Newt shook his head, wrapping his arms around Thomas’s waist and closing his eyes. “‘S not your fault,” he said.

God, he sounded so tired. Why hadn’t Minho let him sleep more?

“Do you want to talk about it?” Thomas asked hesitantly. The answer was usually no, but it was his job to ask.

Newt shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

Thomas nodded slowly, rubbing Newt’s arms. He needed to see for himself. Minho had said there were no injuries, but he needed to see. But it would just upset Newt if he asked outright.

He kissed his boyfriend’s forehead gently. “I’m gonna run a bath for you, okay?”

Newt nodded, not moving. Thomas sighed and kissed him again before slipping into the bathroom and turning on the water. He tested to make sure it was hot, then plugged the drain to let it fill. After a moment’s hesitation he got out the aromatherapy shower gel he’d gotten Newt for his last birthday and poured some of it in. It foamed up as the water hit it. Thomas, for one, enjoyed bubble baths, and he knew they helped Newt sometimes.

He left the water running and went back into the living area. Newt hadn’t moved. Thomas took his hands gently. “Come on,” he murmured, guiding Newt back into the bathroom.

When they were inside he traced a hand over Newt’s jaw. “Can I help you?” he asked.

Newt finally looked up, and gave him something resembling a smile. “Please,” he whispered.

Thomas nodded, smiling back, and slowly began undressing him. Newt moved only when Thomas directed him to, which was a little worrying, but honestly, Thomas let him. Even when he didn’t need to, Thomas was happy to help Newt, to dress him and feed him. (Minho wouldn’t do it even if Newt _did_ need it.)

“Come on, baby,” he murmured, guiding Newt over to the tub. Newt climbed in, closing his eyes. Thomas turned the water down to a trickle--the seal on the drain was bad and it would leak out eventually--and stripped off his own clothes. He gently pushed Newt to sit up so he could settle in behind him.

Newt sighed, closing his eyes and leaning back against Thomas. Thomas smiled, nuzzling his neck and rubbing his stomach gently.

Minho had been right. No injuries. The scars from years gone by were still there, still visible, but no new ones had been added. (Of course Minho was right.)

Thomas picked up the soap and a washcloth and worked up a lather. “Just relax, baby,” he whispered, kissing the spot under Newt’s ear. “I’m gonna take care of you.”

He kept talking as he washed Newt. “So I thought we’d stay in tonight. Make a date of it. We’ll order something, subs maybe, nothing too heavy, and we’ll put on Netflix and watch until we fall asleep. How’s that sound?”

Newt hummed in assent, though he seemed too tired to actually say anything. That was okay, Thomas could read between the lines.

Newt turned his head so he could see Thomas. “Kiss me?”

Thomas smiled and leaned in to capture his lips.

~

Minho was an engineer. He had a master’s degree and earned an appropriate salary, and he didn’t even have student loan debt; he’d won a dozen scholarships and earned his degree ahead of schedule besides, before he had time to run through the aid his parents could give him.

Thomas, by comparison, had only a bachelor’s degree and thirty thousand dollars in student loans. He was a manager at a department store, which paid enough for him to have an apartment and feed himself and Newt as long as he didn’t have a landline or cable or use the heat or AC too much.

It didn’t seem fair to ask Newt to give up the luxury Minho could give him. But Thomas loved him too much to let go.

They ended up getting Thai for dinner. Newt had vegetarian pad thai, as mild as it could get. (Minho wouldn’t have let him get that, would have said it didn’t have enough protein.) Thomas had a curry that sent him running to the kitchen for milk after two bites. Newt laughed at that, a real laugh that lit up his face. It had been too long since Thomas saw him laugh.

“What do you want to watch?” he asked once he was settled down beside Newt, a massive glass of milk beside him and their food on their laps.

Newt shrugged. They were so close that the motion bumped Thomas, which he didn’t mind at all. They could do with a little more closeness, the way things had been going.

“Doesn’t matter to me,” Newt said.

Thomas gave him a nudge with his elbow. “Come on, give me an opinion or I’m putting on one of Nicholas Sparks’ awful movies.”

Newt laughed again. Thomas had missed that laugh. “Fine, fine,” he said. “Ah… _Mission Impossible_.”

Thomas laughed this time. “Hell of a date night movie you picked,” he teased. But he turned on Netflix and found the movie anyway.

“I could’ve picked a horror flick,” Newt said. “Just so I had an excuse to hide my face in your shoulder.”

“You can hide your face in my shoulder anyway,” Thomas said. He smiled softly, brushing a hand through Newt’s hair. Newt’s eyes slipped half-shut in contentment.

“Maybe I will,” Newt said.

It took Thomas ten minutes to finish his entire meal. It took Newt half an hour to eat half of his. Thomas wasn’t surprised, exactly; but when he saw Newt poking at it with an unhappy twist in his mouth he took it from his boyfriend and set it down.

“That’s enough for now,” he said, kissing Newt’s temple.

Newt looked down. “Didn’t eat breakfast,” he muttered. “Or lunch, really.”

Thomas shook his head, kissing Newt again. “It’s okay. You can have some more after the movie, or finish it for lunch tomorrow. Come on, let’s lie down.”

Newt looked like he was about to object, but a yawn cut him off and he nodded. “All right.”

Thomas smiled and slid into a lying position, tugging Newt down so his back was to Thomas’s chest. He’d get up in a bit and get Newt’s medications for him; he wasn’t going to forget yet again. He kissed the back of Newt’s neck. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” he whispered. “When I got Minho’s text I thought--”

Newt cut him off. “He texted?”

Thomas frowned. “Yeah,” he said. “He didn’t tell you?”

Newt shook his head. “He said he’d let you know,” he said. “I thought he’d call.”

“Oh.” Thomas sighed. “No, baby, he texted.” He kissed Newt’s neck again. “But he let me know. And it’s okay, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Silence stretched between them. Thomas thought Newt had fallen asleep, so he was surprised to hear him whisper, “I love you too.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

The Glade was slow that night. Almost empty, in fact. Which was good, because if there were people there Newt would have had to sit up instead of lying on the bar like he was doing.

“The thing is,” he said, lifting a hand. “The thing is I feel like the kid in the fucking divorce. And I don’t like it.”

Alby made a noncommittal noise, wiping out the glass in his hand for the fifth time.

Gally was more vocal. The slow night meant he wasn’t at the door; instead he was playing busboy, which currently meant his only job was to sit on the bar at Newt’s feet and wait for someone to leave a table. “So tell them that.”

Newt groaned, dropping his arm over his eyes. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Another groan, and he tipped his head toward Alby. “I’m not drunk enough for this,” he whined.

Alby snorted. “You’re not getting drunk. Shit doesn’t play well with your meds. One drink an hour is how much a body can process, so that’s how much you’re getting.”

Newt whined aloud, although Alby’s idea of “one drink” was very creative when he (and Newt) wanted it to be. “One drink” became “one glass” in the time it took to pour it.

Alby shook his head. “Wait an hour,” he said. “You just finished the last one.”

Gally repeated himself. “Why can’t you just tell them?”

Newt covered his eyes again, shoulders shaking. For a long minute it looked like he’d start crying, but he got control over himself. “They _hate_ each other,” he said. “They love me but they hate each other and if it was the three of us or nothing they’d pick nothing.”

Alby sighed and looked at Gally, then back at Newt. “How do you know that?” he asked.

Newt’s lip trembled violently for a moment before he sucked in a breath and got control over himself. “Minho _texted,”_ he said. “I had a total fucking meltdown and he _texted_ Thomas to tell him.”

“Damn,” Alby muttered.

Gally shot him a look. “Not helping.”

Newt sat up, holding out a hand to Alby. “Drink.”

Alby snorted. “Hell no.”

“Alby, if you ever loved me, give me a bloody drink.”

Alby sighed, looking at Gally. Gally took the hint. “Newt, who are you staying with right now?”

“No.” Newt turned to point at Gally, shaking his head. “No. No, no, you’re not getting that. Because if I tell you you’ll call him and have him collect me and I don’t want to be collected. I don’t want to leave. I want you--” he pointed to Alby again “--to give me another bloody drink.”

Gally shrugged, looking at Alby. “Fifty-fifty shot?” he said. “Whoever it is’ll come anyway.”

“No!” Newt swung his legs off the bar and stood, glaring between them. “You’re not gonna call my bloody babysitters, you’re gonna take me bloody seriously and talk to me like a bugging adult!” He heaved in a breath and kept going. “I’m twenty-eight years old, I could hold a bloody job if I needed to, and I can hold my bloody liquor, so you’re not going to call _either_ of them, you’re going to pour me another bloody drink!”

The few patrons in the bar were taking notice. Gally and Alby exchanged one final look before Alby beckoned Newt back up onto the bar. “Okay, okay,” he said. “One more drink.”

“Finally,” Newt grumbled, climbing back up to lie in his former position. “What’s so bloody hard about that?”

Alby took his time making the drink, like he was trying to come up with an excuse not to make it at all. Finally, though, he pushed it toward Newt, who sat up to take it.

“Newt,” Alby said slowly.

“Don’t say it,” he warned.

Alby shook his head. “I wasn’t going to go there. Promise.”

Newt sighed, taking a sip of his drink. “Then what were you going to say?”

The older man leaned forward, elbows resting on the bar, looking up to meet Newt’s eyes. “It’s not your fault.”

Newt set the drink down with a loud _clunk._

Alby kept going. “When you did what you did--when you tried to--anyway. Those two got a nice long look at how they’d function if you weren’t around, and they didn’t like what they saw. And instead of trying to fix the two of them so they’d work without you, they split and started playing tug-of-war with you. That’s not your fault.”

Newt stared at him, then at the drink beside him. “It’s not my fault,” he said slowly, like he was considering the idea.

“No,” Alby agreed. “It’s not.”

Newt was silent a long while. Finally he looked at Alby. “Then why the hell do I put up with it?”

~

Minho woke up to the sound of his front door opening. He blinked at the bedside alarm clock, squinting. Two in the morning. He grabbed his phone and checked it.

_**( text from : thomas )** He’s on his way over. _

The text had been sent twenty minutes ago. Minho cursed, rolling out of bed and up to his feet. “Newt?” he called groggily.

He should have woken up. He should have been awake. (Thomas would have been awake.) He stumbled out to the living room. “Newt?”

The blond was there, hands in the pockets of his coat. He didn’t have his bag. That was wrong. Warning bells sounded in Minho’s head. Newt always took that bag when he switched homes, even if it was sudden, even if it was off-schedule. But right now he didn’t have it.

Newt looked up at Minho. His eyes were red and puffy from crying (and, Minho suspected, from drink). He took a step back when Minho came towards him. “Don’t,” he said. His voice was hoarse.

Minho stopped. “What’s wrong, Newt?” he asked, keeping his voice as soft as he could. “Why aren’t you at Thomas’s place?”

Newt took another step back, looking around the room like something might pop out of the walls to save him. The warning bells were getting louder.

“I didn’t want to do this over the phone,” Newt said.

A rock plunged into Minho’s stomach. He knew what that meant. Truth be told, he’d waited for this moment. He knew eventually Newt would choose and he knew he’d never be a contender when that happened.

“Do what?” he asked. His mouth was dry and the words came out as a whisper.

Another step back. Newt took a breath and squared his shoulders. “I can’t do this anymore,” he said. His voice broke but he kept going. “You’re playing tug-of-war with me but I’m not a rope, I’m a rubber band and I’m being stretched thinner and thinner and one of these days I’m just going to snap.”

Minho swallowed, trying to get moisture into his mouth to speak properly; but Newt wasn’t done.

“I can’t do this.” His voice was rising now, agitation bringing life back into his limbs. “I can’t go back and forth between houses, I can’t be passed around like the kid in the fucking divorce! I can’t be with two people who can’t even look each other in the eye!”

Minho took another step forward. “Newt, you’re drunk--”

“And I’m not fucking drunk!” Newt was yelling now, hands out of his pockets so he could swing them like he was warding Minho off. “I didn’t even have a second fucking drink so I’m sure as shit not _fucking_ drunk! And I’m sick of everyone thinking that every time I get upset it’s because of drink or drugs or my _fucking_ disorders!”

Minho stopped, rocking back on his heels. Yeah, that had been dumb to say. “You’re tired,” he tried. “Look, just stay here overnight.” His voice broke again. This was happening, it was happening and no amount of pretending could make it okay. “Please just stay the night, we’ll talk about it in the morning. I’ll take the couch--”

Newt shook his head. “There’s nothing to talk about,” he said, voice flattening. “You had your chances, both of you, you had plenty of chances.”

“So you’re breaking up with me.” It wasn’t a question.

Newt took a deep breath. “Both of you,” he said. “I’m breaking up with both of you.”

He let that hang in the air for a minute before he said, “I can’t be with two people who can’t look at each other, and I can’t choose between you. So I’m breaking up with both of you. I’m going to stay with Alby until I find a place.” His voice broke, and this time he stopped talking.

Minho took a step back. “Okay,” he said, looking at the floor. “Okay.”

Newt let out his breath in a rush. “Okay,” he whispered, casting his own eyes to the ground.

Minho nodded. “Stay the night,” he said. “I’ll take the couch. I don’t want you going back to Alby’s this late.”

“It’s not your call,” Newt said. He couldn’t hide the bitterness in his voice.

“You’re right,” Minho said, looking up at him. “It’s yours. Please stay.”

Newt looked at him, then looked past him at the hallway to the bedroom. Without a word he brushed past Minho and shut the bedroom door.

~

Minho’s alarm went off at eight, as usual. Even from the living room, it woke him up; he hadn’t had a chance to turn it off before he gave Newt the bed. He slipped into the room long enough to turn it off and grab clothes, then back out. He couldn’t be sure if Newt was asleep or awake; the blond didn’t acknowledge him at all, but Minho couldn’t see how he could have slept through the racket his alarm made.

The first thing he did once he’d showered was to put on coffee. The second thing he did, while the coffee brewed, was to call Thomas.

“What did you do?”

Thomas had sounded half-asleep when he answered the phone, but he was awake now. “What do you mean what did _I_ do?”

“Newt came in at three in the morning last night to break up with me. What the hell did you do?”

“He broke up with me too.” Thomas was easily agitated at the best of times. Now his voice was getting so loud Minho had to hold the phone away from his ear. “Because _you_ fucking _texted_ me when he had a meltdown!”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Minho said. His own voice was rising to dangerous levels but he couldn’t seem to help it. “How about you accusing me of leaving alcohol around for him to binge on?”

~

Newt hadn’t slept through Minho’s alarm. Even if he had, he would have woken up at the sound of his ex-boyfriends fighting in the next room. He dragged the pillow over his ears, curled into a ball, and tried to block it out.

Maybe he should have been totally sober going into that conversation. Maybe he should have waited until morning. But he’d hoped that they would _get_ it. That they’d realize that he couldn’t be with each of them but he could be with _both_ of them. Alby had said they’d split. He’d tried to give them a chance to reunite, for the three of them to be together again. Even being shared by two friends would have been manageable.

Minho was still yelling. Newt checked the clock. 8:23. Only twenty-two minutes until Minho had to leave for work.

He could last twenty-two more minutes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, if that doesn't make you all hate me... Don't worry, there is a method to the madness.


	6. Chapter 6

Alby had given Newt his job back. Privately, Gally thought it was more to give the Brit something to do than because Alby needed the help. But it kept Newt from thinking too much, and it kept him from feeling like he was still a kept man. And despite the shit he’d dealt with lately, Newt was damn good at what he did, and people liked him. So it worked out.

“Did that guy just give you his number?” Gally asked, leaning on the bar across from Newt. Zart had taken over door duty with some relief; he preferred checking IDs to taking drinks to customers any day.

Newt snorted and nodded. “Third person tonight,” he said with a wry smile. “I’m expecting at least two more at this rate. I threw them all out.”

Gally snorted, though he couldn’t pretend he didn’t think it was a good idea for Newt not to hook up with anyone just yet. After a shitstorm of a breakup of two relationships that had lasted, in some form, a combined sixteen years, Newt needed some time alone. “Popular guy, huh?”

Newt nodded again, eyes sliding past Gally. The smile melted off his face. “I’m going to see if Alby needs help with the books,” he announced, and before Gally could ask what was wrong or object that he couldn’t run the bar by himself, he was gone. A feeling of foreboding crept into Gally’s stomach as he turned to face the door.

No wonder Newt had run. Minho had just walked in, and he looked stormy.

Gally sighed and slid behind the bar on the off chance the man had actually come for a drink. Even if he’d just come to yell, the bar would be a good buffer against it escalating to an actual fight.

“What can I get you?” he asked as the Asian approached.

Minho planted his fists on the table, leaning forward. If he’d tried it against anyone else it might have qualified as looming, but Gally was as tall as Minho, maybe an inch taller. He just crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

“I want to talk to Alby,” Minho said. His tone was surprisingly level.

“Alby’s busy,” Gally said flatly. “Can I get you a drink?”

“You can get me Alby.” Minho leaned forward. “Or I’ll make you.”

Gally shook his head. “Threats aren’t going to fly here, Minho. I’m pretty sure I can outfight you, and you’re outnumbered anyway.”

Minho growled. “Get me Alby. I need to talk to him. _Now._ ”

Gally was about to call Zart, but a hand landed on his shoulder. “I’m here,” Alby said. He gave Gally a look. In the time they’d known each other they’d gotten very good at communicating without words. This particular look said to stick around for potential backup, so Gally moved just far enough down the bar that he could offer drinks to anyone else but still hear what happened.

“What the hell did you say to him?” Minho demanded.

Alby mimicked Gally’s posture from a minute earlier. “I’ve said a lot of things to a lot of people,” he said mildly. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Newt.” Minho’s voice was clipped. “He came here from Thomas’s. Then he went to Thomas’s, then to mine, and broke up with us. And now he’s not answering his phone. So what the _hell_ did you say to him?”

“Well, I didn’t tell him to break up with you,” Alby said, still level.

Gally cut in. Alby didn’t need his help, but he wasn’t going to let his boss and best friend take the heat for this. “I did.”

Minho turned to glare at him. “ _You?_ ” His voice was thick with scorn and anger. He knew as well as Alby did that Gally had harbored a crush on Newt for years.

Gally returned the stare. “I told him relationships are supposed to make you happy, and any relationship that didn’t wasn’t worth staying in. Apparently neither of you made the cut.”

“Goddammit.” Minho dragged a hand through his hair. “And now what? You swoop in like the knight in shining armor?”

“No, now Newt spends some well-deserved time _alone_.” Gally folded his arms, stepping closer to Minho again. “You really think I did this to steal your boyfriend from you? Minho, twice in a week he was in here, miserable and trying to bully Alby into getting him shitfaced, because _you two_ can’t get along.”

If there hadn’t been the bar between them Minho probably would have taken a swing at him. “So you’re saying this is my fault?”

“No one’s--” Alby began.

“ _Yes,_ goddammit!” Gally yelled. At a glare from Alby he moderated his tone but he wasn’t done. “You and Thomas have spent the last two years alternately blaming each other and blaming yourselves, and Newt’s been caught in the middle constantly blaming _him_ self and it drove him completely fucking crazy. You treat him like a kid, or like he’s a fucking game. The only reason he didn’t break up with you both sooner is that he blamed himself for you being that way and thought he fucking _owed_ you his love.”

“He loves me,” Minho said through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, well he also loves Thomas,” Gally shot back, slapping the bar with his palm. “So how the hell do you think he felt hearing you fight all the time?”

That finally shut Minho up.

~

An hour and two drinks later, Minho had finally left. Gally took the chance to slip into the back room, where Alby said Newt had taken over the bookkeeping.

“Finally putting that business degree to use?” he asked when he saw the blond at the computer.

Newt looked up, pen dropping from between his lips as he opened his mouth to answer. “It’s an economics degree,” he said. “Business was my minor. Along with French.”

“Right, right.” Gally crossed the tiny office in two steps, resting his hands on the back of the chair Alby had vacated. “This going to be your job now?”

Newt shrugged. “Dunno yet. Alby hired me to tend bar but…”

“Yeah, your ex. Or one of them.” Gally nodded, making a sympathetic face. “He’s gone now, if you want to come back out.”

Newt shook his head, looking at the computer again. “I don’t, really. If he came here a week after we broke up then he and Thomas had a fight, which means Thomas will be in later. I’m going to hide back here until close.”

Gally sighed. He didn’t doubt Thomas would be in later, not when Newt put it like that. Newt knew his exes better than he did, anyway.

“Then let’s get out of here,” he said. “Alby can manage the bar for the night without us.”

Newt looked up, a disbelieving smile on his face. “You’re kidding, right? I’ve only just started this. If you leave then Zart has to come back in from the door…”

“It’s Wednesday,” Gally said. “A bouncer is optional. Or hell, Winston can bus and bounce, there’s not that many tables to flip.”

Newt shook his head. “I told Alby I’d do this.”

Gally reached over and put his hand on the screen to block it from Newt’s view. “You told him that because you need a distraction. You’ve been in here every night from open to close. You haven’t been anywhere but here and Alby’s apartment. You need a distraction from your distraction, and as your friend, I’m offering you one.”

Newt bit his lip, staring at what part of the screen he could see around Gally’s hand. Finally he muttered, “Okay. If Alby says it’s okay.”

~

Alby seemed relieved to let Newt go for a night. Gally figured he’d had the same worries about Newt that he had. The blond was working himself into the ground trying to forget what had happened.

“We’ll go wherever you want,” Gally said, draping an arm over Newt’s shoulders. “The only rule is no alcohol.”

Newt snorted. “How’m I supposed to forget my troubles with that rule in play?”

“Figure it out.”

Newt hesitated, then started walking, dragging Gally with him. “Thai,” he said. “As spicy as it gets.”

Gally blinked. “You sure?”

“Positive.” Newt smiled grimly. “My nausea’s gotten much better in the past week.”

Well, that was something, at least.

“Why’d you stay with them so long?” Gally asked after a block.

Newt had to think about it. “I love them,” he said eventually. “Both of them. And I thought they’d work it out. And then I--I dunno.”

“You thought you owed them their time,” Gally said. “Because they were sharing you.”

Newt sighed and nodded. “Pretty much.”

Gally nodded, squeezing his shoulder lightly. “You don’t, you know.”

“I know.”

~

Dinner was followed by ice cream, which was followed by coffee when the ice cream made Newt too cold. Before long it was midnight and the only places left open were bars.

“This was fun,” Newt said when they finally returned to the Glade. Gally planned to work the rest of the  night; Newt had left his key to Alby’s apartment in the apartment so couldn’t go home without Alby.

Newt smiled up at him, and Gally found himself staring, not for the first time that night. “Wish it didn’t have to end,” the blond said.

“Yeah,” Gally said. “Me either.”

Newt licked his lower lip, looking at Gally’s mouth. He leaned up--

Gally stepped back. “I can’t.”

Newt’s eyes went wide, then he stepped back too, wrapping his arms around himself. “Why not?”

Gally shook his head. “A lot of reasons. First off, it’s late and you’re tired--”

“I’m not offering because it’s late and I’m tired!” Newt snapped. “I’m not offering because of drink or pain or disorders or anything else! And the next person who tries to fucking pathologize me _wanting_ something is going to get my foot in their fucking _arse!_ ”

“Second,” Gally continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “because Alby would kill me if I hooked up with you a week after your shitstorm of a breakup.”

“Alby’s not my babysitter.” It was almost a snarl.

“And third, and most importantly, because you don’t want me.”

Newt shook his head. “I do,” he said stubbornly.

“No,” Gally said, “you don’t.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and sighed. “You just don’t want to be alone.”

Quite suddenly Newt’s anger vanished. He just looked lost. “You want me,” he said. “And I’m offering. So what difference does it make?”

Gally snorted. “You’ve never been turned down before, have you?”

“Not by someone I know wants me.”

Gally raised an eyebrow and didn’t say anything. Newt shifted on his feet. “Fine, no, I haven’t. Happy now?”

He shrugged. “A little.” After a moment he asked, “When’s the last time you were single?”

Newt chewed his lip, apparently counting. Finally he said, “Ten years? Maybe eleven.”

Gally snorted. “Thought so.” He put a friendly hand on Newt’s shoulder. “Take some time to be alone,” he said gently. “Figure out what you want.”

Again that lost look. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“Fine,” Gally said. “So go home with Alby. Tend bar for the night and then go home with him. I’m sure he’d be happy to share the bed. But he’ll tell you the same thing I am--neither of us is going to kiss you or fuck you, not while you’re like this.”

He opened the door of the Glade. “You coming?”

Newt shrugged and slipped past him without a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost there. How's everyone feeling?


	7. Chapter 7

“This has gone on long enough.”

The figure in the bed didn’t stir.

“If you don’t sit up, I’m going to dump ice water on you,” Alby warned.

There was a moment’s pause, just long enough for Alby to think he’d need to actually follow through on the threat. “Hurts,” Newt finally mumbled.

“Of course it hurts.” Alby pinched the bridge of his nose. “You got shitfaced. Again. And didn’t drink any water before bed. Again.”

Newt rolled onto his side, dropping his arm from his eyes to look pleadingly at Alby. “I need my meds,” he mumbled. “For pain. Please.”

“No.” Alby shook his head. “You want them, you’re gonna have to get up and get them.”

Newt covered his eyes again, groaning. Alby sighed. “I said you could stay here, and I meant it. But you can’t stay here if you’re just going to drink and sleep. You’re better than that, and I’m not going to enable you.”

Newt whined. “One more day,” he said. “Just lemme get un-hungover, I’ll go back to the bar, I’ll…”

“No. Not the bar.” The bar was where this spiral had started. Thomas had been in later that night, just as Newt had predicted. He and Minho had apparently talked again, because they’d both been in almost daily ever since. Newt had taken to holing up in the office, then started taking the laptop into the supply room. It had been downhill from there.

Alby sighed, sitting down beside Newt. “Newt, you can’t keep going like this. You’ll kill yourself at this rate.”

“Good,” Newt muttered.

Alby pretended not to have heard. “I won’t let you do that, not on my watch. You need to get better. You need to get sober, make an appointment with your therapist…”

“Minho paid for my therapist.”

“He still pays for your health insurance, and I’ll cover the appointment. You’ve earned that much, working bar.”

Newt snorted. He hadn’t worked in any sense in three days, and what he had worked he’d pretty much drunk.

Alby kept going. “You need to do that. Dry up, talk to your shrink, figure out what it is you want.”

“I know what I want.”

“News to me,” Alby said dryly. “What is it?”

Newt dropped his arm again. “I want them.”

Alby had known it was coming, but he just nodded. “Well, you’re not going to get them like this.”

Newt’s face crumpled. “I’m not going to get them at all,” he mumbled. His voice shook. He was going to start crying at this rate and there was fuck-all Alby could do about it. “They won’t _try_ ,” he said plaintively.

He’d talked to Minho once, and to Thomas once. Tried to get them to reconcile. Neither of them would listen, and in the end Alby had had Gally throw both men out.

Alby sighed. “So make them,” he said.

“How?”

“I don’t know. They’re your exes, you dated both of them for six years and then each of them for another two. If you can’t make them listen, no one can.”

Newt’s lip trembled. “I don’t know.”

“Because you’re hungover.” Alby slapped his leg. “The first step in your ‘get Minho and Thomas’s heads out of their asses’ plan should be sobering up.”

Newt buried his face in the pillow. “Okay,” he mumbled.

“And get up,” Alby added. “I’m still not bringing you your pain meds.”

~

This was stupid. Newt had argued against it strenuously. But he was a week sober and Jeff was booked for another three weeks, and as Alby pointed out, this at least was free, even if it wasn’t strictly therapy.

“Hi, I’m Newt, and I’m an alcoholic.”

The words sounded dull and hollow coming from him, but only because they were. He didn’t consider himself an alcoholic. On the long list of things wrong with him, alcohol didn’t even rank in the top five.

“Hi, Newt,” the group chorused obediently.

Except one. “What kind of a name is Newt?” asked a girl with blonde hair and light blue eyes.

Newt wasn’t surprised by the question. It was a weird name. “The kind you get when your real name is Elijah Newton and your best friend’s name is Albert Styles. We both hated our names so we gave each other new ones.”

“And that’s really not an appropriate question to ask,” added the leader of the group.

Blondie shrugged. “Just a question.”

“It’s fine,” Newt assured her.

“So, Newt.” The leader--Brenda--if Newt remembered right--tapped her pen against the arm of her chair. “What made you come here?”

Newt shrugged. “Long story,” he said.

Brenda smiled. “We’ve got time.”

Damn, she wasn’t going to let it go.

~

Newt sighed. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Well, how about you start with what made you come back?” Jeff asked. “You haven’t been in in months.”

“Yeah.” He was quiet a minute. “Minho and I broke up.”

“You did?”

Newt was lying on the couch with his head toward Jeff, like he was in a psychoanalysis session. Sue him, he didn’t feel like making eye contact. But he could hear the scratching of Jeff’s pen.

“Well,” he said. “To be more accurate, I broke up with him. And Thomas.”

The pen stopped for a moment. “Why?”

“Because they suck.” Newt sighed. He wasn’t being fair, was he? “Because they kept playing tug-of-war with me and I was going to snap.”

“You sound like you regret doing it.” There was no judgment in Jeff’s voice. It was just an observation.

“I didn’t want to lose them,” Newt whined. “I just didn’t want this whole--I didn’t want to keep getting passed between them like that.”

“I see.” More scratching. “Have you thought about making up with them?”

“I can’t.” After too many AA meetings and far too many nights spent crying into Alby’s shoulder, he was very clear on that. “Not until they make up with each other.”

Jeff sighed. “Newt, you know you can’t _make_ them love each other again.”

“They do love each other.” Newt sat up at last, turning to face him. “They do. They just hate themselves, or they hate the version of themselves they are with each other.”

“Well, you can’t make them be someone they’re not, either.”

Newt hadn’t realized he knew until he said it. “But I can make them stop blaming themselves for me jumping.”

~

“So you were in a vee?”

Blondie--Sonya, Newt had finally learned her name after three weeks of meetings--had turned out to be the one person who would ask the awkward questions. Newt loved her for it.

“Yeah,” he said. “Well. Does it count as a vee if the two people on the ends stay so far from each other it looks more like a line?”

Brenda snorted. She had a good sense of humor when she let it show.

Sonya’s voice was wistful. “I was in a triad once. My best friend Harriet and I were with this girl Beth.” In a heartbeat her tone turned bitter. “But Beth decided she didn’t love me as much as she loved Harriet, and Harriet decided she didn’t want to be in a vee.”

“She picked Beth?” That was Teresa. She didn’t talk much to the guys in the group, but she asked plenty of questions of the girls.

Sonya shook her head. “She did the same thing Newt did. She picked neither of us.”

“Yeah, well.” Newt let his head fall back until he was looking at the ceiling. “I miss them. I want them back and they want me back but I don’t want each of them this time, I want both of them.”

“You can’t change them, Newt,” Brenda said gently.

~

“So your theory is they both blame themselves for you jumping.”

Newt shrugged. “Alby does.” That much he knew for a fact.

Jeff nodded slowly. “And you don’t.”

“Neither of them made me jump,” Newt said. His voice was bitter. “Though if I’d stayed in that fucking ‘vee’ any longer I might have done it again and then they could blame themselves all they want.”

~

Thomas was there.

Newt stopped walking so fast he tripped over his own feet. Alby caught him. “What’s wrong?”

Newt looked at him, then over at Teresa and the man she was with.

Alby followed his gaze. “Shit,” he muttered.

“I didn’t realize she was _his_ Teresa,” Newt hissed. Thomas rarely talked about his half-sister. Last Newt heard she was still living on the west coast and Thomas hadn’t seen her since college. Newt had never met her in person, or he hadn’t realized he had.

Thomas looked up at that moment. “Newt!” he called, starting toward him.

Newt turned around, grabbed Alby’s wrist, and dragged him out.

~

“I don’t know what to do.”

Jeff sighed. “You’ve talked about nothing but those two for three appointments now. You’re telling me you haven’t figured out anything?”

“I haven’t.” He threw his hands in the air. “The only way they’ll even be in the same room with each other without fighting is if--”

He stopped.

_ Oh. _

There was an idea.

“If what?” Jeff asked.

“I’m not sure I should tell you,” Newt said slowly. “You won’t like it.”

Jeff frowned. “Newt, if you _don’t_ tell me, I’m going to assume the worst.”

Newt told him.

He didn’t like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter left! How's everyone feeling?


	8. Chapter 8

_**( text from : newt )** I’m going to 2nd Street Bridge._

~

Minho had taken all of half a second to read the message before telling his boss he had to leave early, “family emergency”, and driving to the bridge as fast as traffic would let him.

~

Thomas wasn’t supposed to leave, as a manager; but he deputized one of the supervisors to act as manager for the rest of the day so he could leave. There was no other option.

~

Newt waited, leaning against the railing with his eyes closed, until he heard the first car stopped. He opened his eyes. A taxi. Thomas was getting out of the back, eyes wide as he looked at Newt.

Newt let Thomas see the anger and hurt bleed through. “Stay there,” he ordered, projecting his voice to carry over the sounds of the occasional passing car.

Thomas froze, hands up. “Newt, baby, come here,” he pleaded. “We can talk about this.”

Newt could see him calculating, figuring out if he could get to Newt before the blond jumped. Newt met his eyes and very calmly climbed over the railing. On this side was a ledge, just enough for him to stand on. He looped his arms over the rail and waited.

“Why, Newt?” Thomas sounded desperate. “Why are you doing this?” _Again_ , Newt imagined he didn’t add.

“Patience,” he said, closing his eyes again and turning his face up to the sun. “I’ll explain before I go.”

It didn’t take long.

Newt would recognize the cared-for purr of Minho’s car anywhere. He opened his eyes to find the big man walking up, looking at Thomas, then at Newt.

“Stay,” Newt ordered when Minho was as close as Thomas, just ten feet away. “Stay right there or I let go.”

Minho froze as quickly as Thomas had, raising his hands. “What’s going on, Newt?” he asked. He was keeping his voice low and soothing, a tone he reserved for badly damaged computers and Newt. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I gave you a chance, and you didn’t take it.” His voice seemed wrong somehow, too high and too empty. “I told you. I fucking _told_ you what I needed and you fought with each other instead just like _every fucking time!_ ” There, that voice was his. Loud and aggressive and with his heart in every word. Much better.

“What chance? Baby, what are you talking about?” Thomas started to take a step forward, then stopped when Newt deliberately loosened his hold.

“I told you!” he yelled at both of them. “What did I say when I broke up with you?”

Thomas glanced at Minho. Minho looked back after a moment, uneasiness in every line of his body.

Neither of them answered. Finally Newt spat, “I said I couldn’t be with two people who couldn’t even look at each other. So what did you do? You had  _another fucking fight!_ ”

“Baby--” Thomas began.

“ _And stop fucking calling me that!_ ” he screamed. “I’m older than either of you, I’m not a fucking infant, I can take care of myself!”

There was silence for a moment. Thomas swallowed. “Okay,” he said. “I won’t call you that anymore. Okay?”

Newt nodded, chest heaving.

“Come back,” Thomas begged. “Ba--Newt, please come down from there.”

He shook his head. “Why?” he asked bitterly. “So I can listen to you two argue about whose fault it is that I’m up here this time?”

Another uneasy look passed between them.

“You _texted_ ,” Newt said to Minho. His voice was halfway between a whine and an accusation. “I had a fucking _meltdown_ and you _texted_ Thomas to let him know. And _you_ \--” he turned to Thomas before the brunette could get any ideas “--Minho told you I was out drinking and you fucking asked if he left any liquor lying around.” He blinked back angry tears. Crying wouldn’t solve anything. “You--” he looked at Thomas “--treat me like an infant and you--” he turned to Minho “--would rather spend money on me than kiss me.”

Both men were uneasy now, not looking at each other. Finally Minho asked, “What do you want, Newt? How do we make you come down from there?”

“You can’t,” Newt said. He was tired, suddenly, and he was starting to think this was a mistake. Fuck the plan. He just wanted to let go. “I gave you every chance I could.”

“Give us another,” Thomas said, making another aborted step. “Please, Newt. I--” he looked at Minho “-- _we_ love you, please give us another chance.”

Newt shook his head. “No,” he said. “Nothing will change.”

“It will,” Minho promised. “I’ll change.” He looked at Thomas and corrected, “ _We’ll_ change.”

Another shake of his head. “You won’t.”

“We will,” Thomas said. “Newt, I swear. Just tell us what will make you come back down, please.”

Newt looked at his hands, still gripping the railing. “Apologize.”

“What?” That was Minho.

He looked up. “You want me to come down? You want me to believe that you’ll try? Then look each other in the eye and apologize. Apologize for the texts, and the accusations, and all the fights you think I didn’t hear.”

Thomas swallowed. Finally he turned to Minho.

Minho beat him to it. “I’m sorry I texted,” he said. “When Newt broke down. I should have called.”

Thomas nodded. “And--I’m sorry I asked if you had any alcohol lying around. I know you better than that.”

Minho looked at Newt. “Will you come down now?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Next question. Do you still want me?”

“Always,” Thomas said.

“Of course,” Minho said at the same time.

Newt nodded. “Then I need you to promise. You--” he pointed to Thomas “--promise me that you won’t call me baby or baby me anymore. And you--” he pointed to Minho “--promise you won’t make plans for the two of us without asking me first. And then, both of you promise that you’ll give each other another chance.”

That last request got another uneasy look from both men, but they promised.

A weight Newt had been carrying for two months--no, for two years--suddenly dissolved from his shoulders.

“ _Finally_.” He sighed and hopped over the railing. “Took you bloody long enough.”

Thomas blinked. Minho’s mouth opened. “What?”

Newt smiled and clapped both of them on the shoulder. “I didn’t come here to kill myself. I just made it look like I was because the only thing you two can agree on is that you want me alive.”

Minho frowned. “You played us?”

Newt shrugged, pushing past them to the street. “Yep. Would you have listened if I didn’t?”

“Probably not,” Thomas admitted.

“Good.” Newt waved a hand at a passing cab, but it kept going. “Now. I have a shift at the Glade and _you_ two have a date at The Federal at five. You can end it as friends or as boyfriends but you _will_ end it on speaking terms or I won’t be on speaking terms with either of you _ever_ again. And don’t order too much, I only put thirty dollars in. Clear?”

He turned to face them as he asked. Minho looked dumbstruck, Thomas sheepish.

“Clear?” he prodded them.

Thomas nodded. Minho, after a moment’s hesitation, did the same.

“Good,” Newt said. He waved his hands at them in a shooing motion. “Figure it out,” he said. “This is your last chance.”

~

This, Thomas thought, might be the most awkward thing he’d ever done.

The Federal had been a good pick on Newt’s part. Not so fancy that the servers assumed they were a couple, not so pricey that Thomas felt out of place, and not one of the trendy joints that stripped their ceilings of insulation so the noise would make them seem more popular than they were. It was actually the kind of place they would have gone on a date two years ago, if it had been open at the time.

Still. Newt had called it a date, and it was with his one and only ex--well, one of two, if this didn’t work out and Newt didn’t take them back.

Thomas twirled his straw between his fingers, staring at his iced tea. Minho was nervously munching the giant biscuit that had been served as a bread course.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas blurted out.

Minho’s hands stilled in their reach for another bite of the biscuit. “You already apologized,” he said stiffly.

Thomas shook his head, looking up at him. “Not--for that. I mean yes for that but--” He took a breath. “I talked to him all the time. I was with him all day and I should have noticed things were that bad, I should have known, I should have--” He stopped, looking down again. “I’m sorry.”

Minho was quiet for a minute, and Thomas worried he’d just ruined their last chance. Then Minho said, “Thomas, you were with him all day because you worked overnight. You were sleeping half the day. I was the one who reminded him to take his meds and made sure he ate dinner. I was the one who saw him off to work and greeted him when he came home.”

Thomas looked down, shamefaced and so privately miserable that he almost missed it when Minho said, “If anyone should have noticed he was upset, it’s me.”

Thomas looked up, frowning. “You--”

Minho wasn’t done. “I watched him eat less and less at dinner, and eat it more and more often with a beer, or two, or three. I saw him go to work like he was going up to the fucking gallows and come home looking like he’d died and I never--” He stopped, swallowing hard against what Thomas suspected were tears.

He’d never seen Minho cry. Even in the waiting room when they weren’t sure if Newt was going to make it out again, he’d never seen him cry.

Impulsively, Thomas reached forward and covered Minho’s hand with his own. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Well, it sure as hell wasn’t yours,” Minho snapped. Thomas almost took his hand back, but stopped himself. Minho sighed, pinching his nose with his other hand. “I should have known,” he muttered.

“We both should have,” Thomas said. He chewed his lip and offered tentatively, “Maybe… Maybe instead of deciding whose fault it is we just… try to make sure it doesn’t happen again?”

Minho nodded, turning his hand over in Thomas’s and squeezing lightly. “Yeah,” he said. “That might be best. For all our sakes.”

~

Newt looked up when they walked into the Glade. He suppressed a smile when he saw Minho’s arm around Thomas.

“So,” he said when they reached the bar. “What did you decide?”

Both men slid into seats across from him. “Well,” Thomas said. “My lease is up at the end of the month.”

“And I have space,” Minho added.

“Do you really?” Newt asked, trying to sound like he wasn’t dying for them to spit it out.

“Yeah,” Minho said. “I do. And I thought I could put that space to good use by giving Thomas a place.”

“As a friend?” Newt asked. “Or a boyfriend?”

Minho looked at him and smiled. It made him look younger, softer. “As one of my two boyfriends, I hope.”

Newt looked at Thomas, who nodded. The blond grinned. “Glad that’s bloody settled,” he said. “Now, I’m two months sober and not looking to fuck that up, but what can I get you blokes?”

~

Newt was mumbling in his sleep.

Thomas woke up first, but by the time he’d blinked the sleep out of his eyes Minho was awake too. They met each other’s eyes over the blond’s shoulder. Thomas couldn’t quite hold back a sigh.

They’d gone to Thomas’s apartment long enough for him to pack an overnight bag. Now all three of them were at Minho’s. Minho’s bed was big enough for them all; they’d picked it out together specifically for that purpose, after all. But it felt small with the two of them on either side of Newt, especially with Newt starting to squirm away from whatever demon haunted his dreams.

“Hey.” Thomas kissed his forehead. “Ba--Newt, wake up.”

Minho brushed the hair out of Newt’s face and squeezed his shoulder lightly. “Newt,” he whispered. “Come on, we’re here, it’s okay.”

Newt didn’t wake up. But after a minute of his boyfriends’ affection he settled down, the mumbles fading to silence and the squirming changing to a tiny smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's the end. Sort of.
> 
> At this point, while I don't intend to write an actual sequel, I've written two companion fics and started another. And this work is now part of a series so you can subscribe and get notified when they go up. If you want more, there's an easy solution: Leave prompts in the comments. I'm more than happy to write more fic in this universe.


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